Why?

"What does cutting do for you? Help me to understand."

I was sitting on my bedroom floor across from my friend, my head and back leaned against my pole. My gaze turned to the ceiling as I avoided her compassionate eyes. The request for understanding caused emotion to catch in my throat. Outside of a therapist's office, no one who didn't have a history with self-harm themselves had really sought to understand my struggle. Even inside the walls of the therapist's office, I didn't always get understanding either. 

Slowly, I began listing the reasons to her and was overwhelmed by how many different motivations I had for turning to self-harm. I had heard repeatedly, "self-harm is a symptom of a deeper hurt" which is true, but its permeation through my mental cycles almost made it feel like it was its ugly disease that was bigger than the underlying issues. Sometimes, it was easier to focus on the cutting than the trauma that invited me to turn to it.

I am one person and the reasons I've self-harmed may not be true for someone else who self-harms. And this list is by no means exhaustive. It is meant to be a tool for anyone seeking to understand. If you already understand, then I hope you feel represented. You are not alone.

Punishment

One of my biggest motivations in self-harming was as a form of punishment. I would fail in some way or not live up to expectations (either my own, or someone else's). In my early twenties, I went through a period of intense self-hatred where I pretty much didn't feel that I deserved to be alive. On the days when I felt that way strongly, a choice such as getting skittles from the vending machine and eating them could be enough for me to cut. In my mind, I had wasted money and eaten junk food; two things Marian should not do.  And thus, the need for punishment.

Also, confusingly enough, on days when my I felt that my body was ugly, I would want to cut as a punishment. "You shouldn't be fat. You're so ugly." would be the thoughts in my head and so then I would cut to punish myself for existing in my natural state.

To externalize pain

Depression and emotional trauma are so insidious because they are invisible. Everyday, I went through the motions of my life. Go to work. Go to school. Absorb information. Chat with a professor or classmate. Eat lunch. Do homework. Drive home. Interact with family. Recreate. 

It was unbearable to be walking around, stuffing all my pain inside. It took me seven years before I saw a therapist consistently for cutting. In that time, my close friends knew that I struggled and a few of my family members. But everyone else saw me as the Marian I presented: a diligent student, a good friend, a follower of Christ, a promising theater artist. 

While I may have been those things, the cost of keeping the rest of my story hidden caused my pain to go unacknowledged and made me feel invisible. 

When I cut, I felt the pain instantly and a rush of relief followed. "Finally", my brain seemed to sigh, "now you know your pain is real."

Attention

This goes hand in hand with externalizing the pain. I felt unnoticed. There were times I cut, hoping someone would notice something was wrong and ask me how I was doing. 

A little aside here: there has been a significant amount of dismissive attitudes in regard to people who self-harm for attention. If that is your attitude, please pause. It can be exhausting to deal with someone who is desperate for attention, but if they're self-harming, there's a real NEED there that's not being met. Be kind.  

Dealing with suicidal ideations

When I was my most suicidal, I found myself incredibly frustrated that I couldn't kill myself. I lacked the courage. I also loved my family and friends too much to leave them with that pain. The feeling of wanting to die but knowing you can't is like having this persistent, painful itch that you can't scratch. Cutting was a way for me to take drastic, destructive action against my body that would still keep me alive. Yet, it helped me feel a little less so; which, at the time, was what I wanted.

Control

Overwhelmed by my circumstances and situations in my life, I would turn to self-harm to gain some measure of control. This one, out of all my reasons, is the hardest one for me to fully understand, even today. But it plays a part.

To make my body uglier

 As chronicled in an earlier blog post, "The One I Didn't Want to Write", my relationship with self-harm had its ebb and flow. After my experience of sexual misconduct in 2015, my cutting spiked and this motivation became a driving force. I already had a confusing relationship with my body before the incident and I often struggled with feeling fat or ugly, but then came the conflicting thought, "If you were ugly, this wouldn't have happened". Which, to be unequivocally clear, is a lie from the pit of hell. But cultural notions of, "the damsel in distress", women dressing attractively meaning that they "wanted it", and "men just can't control themselves around beautiful women" made me blame my appearance for what happened instead of the perpetrator. I thought, "If I make myself uglier, no man is going to want to look at me or touch me." 


These reasons were real and present and intermingled in my years of self-harm. As I sought healing from my addiction, I began to dig at the root of my suffering. 

And here's the good news: Each of these motivations has a counter-action. An action based on truth, a reason rooted in value. In addressing each of these aspects of my self-harm, I also uncovered reasons not to. I will share these reasons in my next blog post.

Now, when the urge to self-harm comes up, I pause. I have two choices. A choice that is based in a lie and will lead to deadening my soul, and a choice that is based in truth and will gently lead me on the road of healing. It's not always easy and it's not always that simple, but more often than not, I am able to make the better choice.

If you or someone you know is self-harming, please reach out to the Crisis Text Hotline by texting CONNECT to 741741. 
  

Warning Lights

Mornings for me, are a thing of necessity. I engage with mornings out of duty rather than love. The sweetest days for me are when I can lounge in bed and be greeted by a mid-day sun. 

This morning, my alarm went off at 7:00am, reminding me that I had duties.  Last night, I didn't get much sleep, due to willfully putting myself in an overly-caffeinated state and unwillingly running anxious thoughts through my head. But lounging in bed would have to wait for another day. I puttered downstairs, my heavy eyelids protesting the assault of visual stimuli. I poured myself a cup of the very same substance that malevolently kept me awake last night. 

After putting in a solid hour of work, I wandered to Ye Olde Facebook to check in with the world. It was then I remembered there was a project coming up that I wanted to audition for. A project I had been thinking about for months and so desperately desired to be a part of. I reached out to the director to see if I could somehow fit my schedule with his rehearsal plans. He responded quickly and while it seemed unlikely that our schedules would align, it wasn't so unlikely that I wasn't tempted to try.

My excitement about this project was dampened only slightly by the other projects I already have going on. This Spring semester, I will be directing two shows, which will alone give me enough to work on. But, I thought, if the director was willing to work with my conflicts, I could do it all. 

Thinking I should probably take a breath and slow down, I messaged a friend and asked his opinion about my trying out. Very kindly, he supported my enthusiasm and inclination, but also suggested that it may not be in my best interests to spread myself too thin. I heard him, but the excitement was still too strong. I had pretty much decided I would audition and if it worked out, God would help me make it all work. 

Nevertheless, I did pause enough to pray. I asked God to give me wisdom and that if I shouldn't audition, that He'd make that clear to me. 

Twenty minutes later, I hustled out the door to get to gym class. I climbed into my car, Ginny, and tried to turn her on.

And she wouldn't start.

I tried again, hoping that if I just turned the key a couple more times, the engine would turn over. 

And nothing. Then, followed a conversation I had with my car in my head:

"Come on, girl. I need to get to class."
I can't.
"What do you mean you can't? Sure you can. We do this every day."
I literally cannot. 
"Why not?"
Something's wrong. 
"Okay, maybe. We'll get it checked out later. Can you just make it through today. though?"
No. Stop it. I've been telling you something's not right for a while now. You just haven't been listening.

Ginny's various warning lights have been on for a while. Check engine. Coolant. Brakes. I would make a mental note every time I would drive somewhere that I needed to take care of that "at some point". As I learned today, sometimes "at some point" is too late. 

I don't believe that everything that happens in life is a "sign from God", but I got the message. 

Humans, much like cars, have our own indicator lights that flash when something's off. Much like cars, it's easy to ignore those lights. Dismissively, we can say things like, "my sensor might be broken", "if I ignore that, it'll go away", "it's going to be too expensive to fix this", "it's going to take too much time to get this looked at", "the issue's probably not that serious", "it's just a piece of junk, anyway".

I can preach self-care to those around me like it's my day job. But when it comes to actual self-care for me-for this "self"-I actually feel slightly ill at the thought of it. You know why? Self-care is hard. It's some hard work. It does take time, energy, and even money. 

My check engine light might flash when I am struggling to get out of bed in the morning, when I can't keep my house clean, when I don't want to go out, when I overeat or indulge in too much sweets or alcohol, when I over-exercise or avoid exercise entirely, or when I fill my schedule so much that I don't have time to deal with the messy reality of myself. 

God, in his wisdom, knew humans would need rest. He built it into the week for us with the Sabbath. Yes, He created us to work, but He also created us to rest. When we actively avoid true rest and recreation, we miss out on a big, healing part of being human and being made in the image of God.

So today, I'm going to take a deep breath and slow down. I'm going to listen to those warning lights, because I have more mornings to face and I'm going to need all the energy and strength I can muster.

Take care of you, okay?  

Progression of Healing

*TRIGGER WARNING: This blog post contains pictures of real self-harm wounds and scars. These images may be upsetting or triggering to some*

I had a great plan with this blog. A plan to tackle and fully lay bare the issue of self-harm.

And then, I choked. I couldn't find the time or the energy or the words. Then, mercifully, I started to separate myself from the experience of self-harm. So much so that I sometimes struggled to remember why I did it in the first place. How could a girl who could barely connect to who she used to be offer any wisdom on how to overcome the things she's not sure she even understands anymore?

Here's the thing: healing isn't always linear. It's a winding, twisting, joyful, crushing, roaring path. The truth is, while most days I can't connect to the need to self-harm, some days I still do. Those days, it becomes very clear that I do still have words to say. 

But this isn't actually about words. It's about pictures.

Almost two years ago, my sister approached me to be a part of a photography project. She was photographing different aspects of suffering and asked if I would be willing to let her photograph my self harm wounds/scars*. Her timing was God-ordained as I had just recently had a major shift in my relationship with self-harm. At the time when she asked, I had self-harmed badly a week or so before. But that time was different. It was the beginning of the end for my addiction. I agreed to let her photograph me because I wanted my future to be different. And while it was hard and vulnerable and raw to let her see and take pictures of the ugliest parts of me, I wanted to be able to look back at who I was and be grateful and proud of who I am now. 

While the journey hasn't been perfect, I can say I am grateful for the progression of healing. When I see that girl with the marks on her legs, I do understand her. But I know better now. I love myself better, and the compassion I can feel is borne from the deepest compassion that Christ bears for me.  

*I want to be clear: I did NOT self-harm expressly for this photo shoot. While I want to let the art speak for itself, I do fear that someone could think that I hurt myself for the art which is not the case.  

Validation, Consequences

I did something hard today. Something I've been putting off for...at least a year. I scheduled a gynecology appointment. 

I've been scared to pick up the phone and make that call for several reasons. One, I've never seen a gynecologist. I refused to go for a long time because I have a deluded sense of wellness and independence. I don't do doctors. Also, I reasoned, I'm not sexually active and never have been. So, I should be good, right?

However, I started to show some irregularity that concerned me a bit and I thought, "I should probably swallow my pride and do this."

Then, panic hit me. I realized very quickly that my aversion to going to the gynecologist had nothing to do with my pride anymore. It had to do with my two experiences of sexual mistreatment. 

I use "mistreatment" today because it feels safe for me. "Assault" comes with a lot of baggage that is hard for me to sort out. I often feel, as a survivor, that because I wasn't raped, I don't deserve to feel panic over things like going to the gynecologist. I don't deserve to irrationally put off a normal medical exam. I don't deserve to shake and stutter as I finally talk to a receptionist at the OB/GYN office.

But the fact is I do. And you know what? Whether I deserve to feel that way or not doesn't change anything. Questioning my right to feel fear and shame doesn't help me to heal from those things. Questioning rarely closes wounds. Truthful validation does. 

Another reason I'm sharing this story is to further show the consequences of sexual coercion. When the more recent and impacting incident happened, I felt absolutely powerless. I felt like I couldn't say no to the things that were happening to me. I felt like I couldn't breathe, or think, or move.

Today, as I dialed that number, I felt all those same feelings. Everything came back like a flash. All I could think was, "You bastard. I'm still paying for your stupid shit." I let fear of a past experience inform fear of a future experience. I let that fear keep me from seeking after my own health. If my mother hadn't asked me to call as a Mother's Day gift to her, who knows how long I would have waited. 

I don't deserve that. 

Still, I made the call. I have an appointment. Setting the phone down, I felt a huge sense of relief. I made one more step in quieting my fears. I took a little of the power back.

Maybe there are things for you that are triggers-things that you feel shame for the power they have over you. Maybe you have triggers that you'd never tell anyone because they seem stupid. But, my friend, your responses to things are real. Often times, you can't change them. Not right away. And that's okay. Maybe you're struggling with ongoing consequences of someone else's sin. You want to talk to someone about it, but you don't know if they'll understand or if they'll be willing to listen to your complex story of wrong and pain. I want you to know, I get that. Your feelings are real. Your suffering is real too, even if the outside world doesn't see it. 

Jesus made us for power, for glory, for love, for peace, and healing, and goodness, and fellowship, and wholeness.

We deserve more.   

The One I Didn't Want to Write

Trigger warning: this post will openly and graphically deal with self-harm. 

I've been putting this off for a while.

Writing my blog post, "the Middle" was me trying to prepare for this. I've fought with myself repeatedly about whether or not this is too personal to share on social media or whether it's even appropriate. I've struggled with my motives. I've struggled to feel "fixed enough" to shed any sort of light or wisdom on this issue.

I can't even try to make this poetic and pretty because this is one of the ugliest parts of my life. So you'll forgive me if I forgo any attempt at exciting syntactical formations or a mastery of words.

I'm just here to share a story. So here it is: you may or may not know this about me but I have struggled with a cutting addiction. I optimistically put that sentence in the past tense. This post is to give you a little background and context for my addiction, and then I will do a few other posts seeking to educate people on the reasons for the self-harm, some tools to help someone who is self-harming, and then how I have worked to overcome it.

I do want to preface with this, I am not a mental health professional. I am also only one person and I can only speak about my experience. The things I share will not be universal for all people who cut, but they are my truth and they may give you at tiny glimpse at what it is like for a person living with this addiction and how you can help them.

I started scratching when I was fourteen. I do make a distinction between scratching and cutting. For my purposes "scratching" is using any sort of sharp implement to make a mark on the skin but that does not draw blood or is only a surface wound. "Cutting" (again, my own definition here) is when a great deal of pressure is applied by a sharp implement to the skin to cause a deeper wound. I make this distinction not to diminish scratching, but to show how the addiction started and grew. Any time a person purposely inflicts harm on themselves, it is absolutely serious. This scratching started mostly because I had several friends in my life who were self-harming and I noticed the attention they were getting from it. As a teen, desperate to be noticed and taken care of, I started to scratch but at the time found that it really didn't do much for me personally or socially.

I held the addiction at bay for a good many years. When I was 18, there were some very stressful relational issues in my life that were causing me a lot of worry, anger, and shame. There were people in my life who were making me feel worthless, unlovable, and monstrous. I found myself gravitating toward self-harm. This was when I started to cut, although for the most part the wounds I made were still scratches.

For those early years of adulthood, my relationship with self-harm waxed and waned. I would not classify it as an addiction yet as it was something that I only turned to once in a while, usually prompted by extreme stress.

By the time I was 21 in 2014, I had started my time at my 4-year institution. It was a new environment fraught with new responsibilities. During my first semester, my mental health suffered and I found myself occasionally self-harming. I took advantage of the free counseling my university offered. I made it through my first semester relatively unscathed. However, in 2015 there were two big traumas in my life: the suicide of a close friend and I was sexually assaulted.

The suicide of my friend caused me to sink into a deep depression and the sexual assault caused me to feel many of the feelings survivors feel: guilt, shame, self-loathing, and fear. I couldn't stand living in my life, living in my body. I wanted to die, but I told myself I couldn't do that to my community after the suicide they had already recently experienced. So, I allowed myself to do the next best thing, I punished myself with cutting.

This was when it became an addiction. I was cutting nearly every week, sometimes several times a week. I stopped cutting on my arm because it was getting attention and started cutting on my thighs which were much easier to cover up. Before 2015, cutting was restricted to home, but I found myself stealing x-acto knives from my school's shop and cutting in the bathroom. 

I write that last sentence with appropriate shame. Cutting is never right but I was adding on to my sins. I stole, I misused equipment, I lied, I hurt myself in a public place where someone may have found me-which could only be traumatic for that other person. Thankfully, no one ever did but still this act was very wrong of me. I include it to show how much this addiction had a hold of me.

Often, I felt like I had no other choice. I was convinced there was no other solution to my problems. It was the only thing that was going to help me keep myself alive. This carried on through various degrees of severity even after graduation in 2016.

Let me tell you where I am now. The last time I self-harmed was October, 2017. Nine months doesn't seem like a long time, which is another reason I've hesitated to write this. I worry about having a relapse and having to retract all the things I spout about healing and progress. But, as I mention in "The Middle", every story is worth telling. And you can tell your story even if you're still figuring things out. But I'm happy to tell you that right now, I'm okay.

There has been a definite shift for me in how I think about cutting. And yes. I do still think about it. There are days I want to go back to it, but it no longer feels like the overwhelming need as it did during the darkest months. Through counseling, significant relationships, and the grace of God, I was able to start to have some compassion for myself and realize that hurting myself does absolutely nothing to help me. I will talk more about the healing process for me in another blog post.

Another reason I didn't want to write this is because I still try to deny it. I never thought I would struggle with this. This was never the person I wanted to be. I never wanted to be the girl who cut herself. For years, I would come before God, angry and broken, and feel certain He was disgusted by what I had become. I felt that, since I had taken the initial plunge of adding scars to my body, the only course was to keep cutting. It became my identity-an identity I despised and wished I could be rid of.

I have to own this story. For one thing, the scars aren't going anywhere. This is a part of my life. To deny this chapter would be to deny a huge outpouring of God's grace and love to me. I would have to ignore the things I have learned as I have grown and healed. My identity is not in my scars, but in the One who is healing them.

It is my hope that in sharing this with you, you too will feel free to own your story as well. I share this story because I know there are boys and girls, men and women who have stories similar to mine that they feel they can't share-due to social stigma and shame. I am sharing in hopes to provide understanding.

If you or someone you know is self-harming, please seek help. Know that wherever you are in your journey, there is healing. There is hope.

Hotlines:

Depression Hotline: 1-630-482-9696

Suicide Hotline: 1-800-784-8433

Self Harm Hotline: 1-800-DONT CUT (1-800-366-8288)

Self-injury Foundation’s National Crisis Line: 1-800-334-HELP

Real Help for Teens Help Line: 1-877-332-7333

Self-Harm Hotlines Online:

Self-harm hotline chat, message boards, and self-harm resources online are also available so that you may get help through the internet.

Self-Injury.net Online Support

Kids Help Phone Live Chat Counseling

Teen Line Help Online

To Write Love on Her Arms

The Name of Jesus Cures Opium Addiction and Other Problems I Have with Christian Literature

*deep breath*

So. Recently, I have been hit with a wave of nostalgia. I have been listening to old music from my upbringing, stocking my fridge with childhood favorites (I got really, really excited when I realized I could afford to buy dill pickle spears), revisiting classic movies, and rereading books that left an impression on me as a young child or in my teenage years.

Just because something is nostalgic, however, doesn't mean it's necessarily good or good for you. Nostalgic fills you with a sweet, longing feeling but indulging in whatever is bringing back that feeling may not be so dulcet or fulfilling.

In my case, for example, indulging in both Kraft macaroni and cheese and Christian literature leaves me feeling sick, bloated, frustrated, and guilty. Turns out reminiscing may be hazardous to your health.

This past week, I reread a book I first encountered when I was about 14 years old. This book is Tahn, by L.A Kelly. When I read the book a decade ago, I devoured it. Oh, I had my issues with it even then, but I was captivated by the plot, the mature subject matter, and the titular character of Tahn. I overlooked all my problems with the novel to continue on to the second and third books in the trilogy. Truthfully, I was very inspired by the book and a lot of my ten-year old writing project, Aakroveil, was born from ideas and concepts I got from this piece of literature. As I've begun working on Aakroveil in earnest again, I wondered if Tahn would hold up for me. Thus, I downloaded it onto my phone via the Kindle app and settled in.

Oh boy. The issues are...many. Let's examine, shall we?

First, a summary: Our story begins with a night of violence. We follow Tahn, a young man who is in the process of kidnapping the Lady Netta Trilett. He is under the orders of his master, Samis, a leader of mercenaries who has built his kingdom based on fear and forcing opium on his soldiers, "the Dark Angels". Samis recruits his soldiers at a young age, often picking up orphans and street urchins.

Lady Netta, is of course, terrified about being kidnapped but she is even more surprised when this man encourages her to scream and alert the rest of her family to the danger that is coming. Samis' soldiers end up burning her home to the ground and murdering most of her extended family. This attack is a political ploy ordered by Baron Trent who is vying for the currently unoccupied throne. Netta is also astonished to recognize that this man, Tahn, is the same man who killed her husband, Karll, three years before.

Tahn, however, is done working for Samis. He is tormented by the violence he has been coerced to commit and has decided to once and all be free of him. By kidnapping Netta, he actually saves her life. He takes her to a cave far away from Samis' men and asks her to remain there until he is able to help her further. He tells her he must first go back to Samis to free the young children in Samis' "care".

Through trickery, Tahn convinces Samis he is still working for him and manages to save all the children. He takes them back to the cave where Netta is and asks for her help in taking care of them. Netta, a good Christian woman, is very confused by this man who, for all accounts, should be a monster, and yet is seemingly doing a good and right thing. As she is unsure of whether or not her family is still alive or if it is even safe for her to reveal her location, she decides to stay. Netta then begins teaching the children their alphabet along with reading Scripture to them and sharing the gospel with them.

Eventually, Tahn begins to hear her lessons and he comes to faith. Before he can share the good news with Netta and the children, he is ensnared in a trap by Samis to capture him, as Samis has by this time realized Tahn has betrayed him. Baron Trent convinces Samis to allow Tahn to travel to the great city of Onath where he can be publicly hanged. The Baron comes up with the idea of blaming Tahn for the deaths of the Triletts.

Netta and the children hear of this and decide to save Tahn, which they do. They travel to Onath. Netta discovers her father and cousin survived the attack. They then reveal themselves at Tahn's hanging and expose the Baron for the evil man he is. Yay.

Netta's father, Lord Bennamin Trilett (Okay, I'm sorry. But can we admit how awful a name this is? Bennamin? Just name him Benjamin! PLEASE), honors Tahn as the man who saved his daughter and welcomes him and the children to come live with him and the remainder of his family in their non-charred country house as they all try to rebuild their lives. Tahn gladly accepts for the children, but is reluctant to accept himself. He expressed to Bennamin (hehe) that he has...feelings...for Netta which may complicate things. Bennamin is surprisingly unconcerned about this and invites him anyway.

In the meantime, Samis' army has fallen apart and Samis now wants to kill Tahn more than anything in the world. He attempts to, but dies before he gets the chance. More on that later.

Then Netta and Tahn admit their love for one another and the book ends hopefully about everyone's future.

*another deep breath*

Okay. I'm going to first delve into thematic issues I have with this with this novel, and then the literary ones. Many of these are issues that I find to be reoccurring in a lot of Christian Fiction I have read. Ready? Let's go.

#1: The Eroticism of Sexual Assault

This, to me, is one of the most heinous crimes of Christian literature. In this book, one of Tahn's "cohorts" attempts to rape Netta before Tahn safely conducts her to the cave. Tahn doesn't allow it, stating that business must be taken care of before pleasure. This scene is so cringe-y. Don't get me wrong. I have no problem with the author including this in the novel. It makes sense in the circumstances. My problem is how the situation is presented. She describes the actions taken by the man before he is stopped, yet never deals with the fall out. There simply seems no further point to this scene but to establish that a) the man who attempts to rape Netta is evil (shocker, we knew that already and spoiler, Tahn kills him about an hour later, so...I don't care) and b) Tahn may actually be protecting Netta after all, which again, is something that the author is already unveiling to us.

There also other hints of sexual assault in the novel. One of the children Tahn rescues is girl masquerading as a boy. This girl hints to Netta that she was sexually assaulted by her father (this child is 9), but never explicitly states it. Netta's response is basically, "Oh, you poor dear. I'm so glad you're safe now". Um...excuse me, what? There is much more to be explored there, in terms of healing and relationship for these two characters. Why bother putting this in if it goes nowhere?

My point here is, in Christian literature, one way to sneak in some "exciting sexual content" is to have a character almost be assaulted. This also falls into the "damsel in distress" trope. Women being almost assaulted but then rescued by a man in the nick of time...what an exciting and thrilling way to exemplify the courage and heroism of our male characters! To describe the act, but then never deal with Netta's emotions-her fear, her disgust, her shame, her trauma after almost being raped-is cheap and degrading. If you're not actually going to deal with the horror of sexual assault, don't put it in your novel.  Otherwise, your reasons simply seem voyeuristic and erotic.

#2: Hard Christianity and missed opportunities

If you've ever had the pleasure of watching any of Say Goodnight Kevin on YouTube, you will have heard him use the term "Hard Christianity" for any piece of Christian media that is edgy pretty much just for the sake of proving Christians can do edgy things. This novel deals with a lot of difficult issues, "gang" violence, childhood abuse, murder, sexual assault, suicide, torture, eternal damnation, drug addiction, and political corruption.

But it doesn't deal with any of these issues well. My problem with this is pretty much the same as my problem with point #1. The novel includes all of these things, but doesn't take the time to explore the impact on the characters. Inclusion of hard things doesn't mean working through them. It seems like Kelly wanted to write a novel that exemplifies God's grace in the most broken of situations. Good. That's a wonderful goal. This doesn't fully happen, though, as there is no exploration of the motives behind human wickedness. Kelly opts out of delving into the psychological, philosophical, and spiritual implications of evil for her characters, even though evil deeds are what drive her plot.

Also, we get underlying political unrest in this novel but we don't get any information about...anything. What is this world? Where is it? What happened that the throne has been unoccupied for seven years? Is there anyone else trying to claim the throne besides the Baron? What's the economy like? The culture? Fashion? How does Christianity exist if this doesn't take place in our world (and hey, maybe it does but it doesn't explicitly say and all the town names are made up so who knows). To be fair, I believe this is something she delves into in book three of the trilogy, but we, the readers, should not have to wait that long for this world-building information.

#3: Jesus Magically Cures Everything (including opium addiction)

I. Cannot. Stand. This. Not one, not two, but THREE characters in this novel come to Christ and suffer NO ILL EFFECTS OF SUDDENLY QUITTING OPIUM. The characters laugh and rejoice at this and seem to accept this as a natural way in which God works. NO. This is not natural-at all. Certainly, God could choose to help His child to work through withdrawal without symptoms and I am sure He has, but this is not how it works for most people. I find this to be incredibly insulting to people who have struggled with addiction of any kind, especially those people who have cried out to God for help in their addictions and He has denied them. I believe the story would have been much more effective and powerful to show Tahn coming to Christ and then struggling through the pain of withdrawal. God's grace doesn't take away all the hard things about our lives. It helps us through them. This would have been a much more relateble development and would be more interesting to read.

Additionally, after Tahn comes to Christ, he instantly lets go of his violent and angry ways. He struggles a little bit to forgive Samis, but he lets go of the long-harbored desire to kill him. In fact, he prays that he will never have to shed blood again, a prayer that God answers when Samis conveniently dies of what appears to be a stroke before he and Tahn have to face off. Again, this is the easy way out. It would have been much more interesting and real to show Tahn struggling with the contrast of his old self- bitter, angry, murderous, and his new self- redeemed, hopeful, peaceful. It would have been interesting to see Tahn forced to kill Samis out of self-defense and work through what that meant in the light of his newfound faith.

The reality of Christianity is that Jesus promised our lives would get harder in many ways because of our choice to follow Him. In Christian novels, this somehow gets turned backwards where characters believe and suddenly everything is fine. Baffling. Absolutely baffling.

#4: Characters pray/praise God all the time

In nearly every Christian novel I've read, the Christian characters' inner monologue is just one long conversation with God. Man, I wish this were true for me, but it's not. In fact, I don't know many (any) Christians who would say that every time they have a thought, they are directing that thought in prayer to God. I know the Bible says to pray without ceasing but who actually accomplishes this?

Characters also punctuate nearly ever sentence with "thanks be to God", "thank you, Jesus",or "by the grace of God". Maybe the author intended this use of language to help the medieval feel of the text. Regardless, it's unnatural and pulled me out of the story. It was ludicrous how Tahn also adopted this language immediately after becoming a Christian. Bam! Instant change!

#5 Forgiveness and toxic relationships

Remember how Tahn killed Netta's husband, kidnapped her, and assisted in a plot that brought about the death of many of her family members? Yeah, well, this doesn't stop Netta from falling in love with him.

Granted, all of the evil things Tahn did were under duress and he actually does a lot of really good things. He has a lot of good qualities as well. But this man is a deeply damaged soul and the wounds between him and Netta should be deep and complex.

The ease with which Netta forgives Tahn for all the wrong he's committed is not realistic. It's very uncomfortable as the reader to see her brush aside everything he's done and give into romantic feelings for the man who murdered her husband. Many Christians might say this is a beautiful picture of forgiveness but it's not. Forgiveness is much messier and much harder. Again, I don't in theory have an issue with the two of them falling in love, but it happened too quickly and we skipped about a hundred steps of healing that needed to happen first.

The novel again misses an opportunity here to explore what forgiveness actually looks like. What is the difference between forgiveness and reconciliation? How do we offer grace and love to the people who have hurt us first? How do we let go of bitterness and anger?

Nah, let's skip all that and just have them kiss.

#6: No human being speaks this way

I wish there were a nice way to say this, but there really isn't. The writing is not good. While the descriptions in this book aren't terrible, the dialogue is unbelievably bad. As I mentioned above, Kelly may have been trying to get a medieval flair in the way her characters spoke, but what ended up happening is her characters speak in highly formal language that belies any true feeling or thought. Her characters' conversations don't have any natural flow or structure. Characters don't have distinct speaking patterns. The content of the conversations often feels superfluous.

Towards the end of the book, we are treated to characters rehashing the grace of God on nearly every page. If you can fill your novel with musings on the beautiful grace of God, please do. But don't present the gospel in the same way over and over and over again. We get it. Your characters get it. Move on.

#7: Constantly shifting perspectives

I love getting a story from multiple points of view, but the perspective shifts in this book were overwhelming. One minute it would be from Tahn's perspective, then Netta's, then back to Tahn's, then maybe one of the children. It was jarring. I'm not saying you can't shift perspective within a short time frame, but the transition needs to make sense and be purposeful. Most times, I didn't understand why we were suddenly getting this interaction from the other person's viewpoint when the conversation would have been fine to carry on from the original viewpoint.

#8 Tahn and Samis are the only interesting characters

There are a decent amount of characters in this novel, but most of them are so flat and similar to one another that I found I really only cared when I was reading about Tahn or Samis. Netta is so painfully boring and one-dimensional. The children don't have distinctive personalities. The bad guys are bad. The good guys are good. Tahn is somewhat conflicted in the middle until he accepts Christ and transforms into a saint.


There you have it.

Maybe you're reading this (although, seriously, did you wade through all of that? If so, you deserve a medal) and thinking, "Marian, if you hated it so much, why do you care? Why put all this effort and energy into this?"

Because it could have been so good. Kelly has a story here which, in its rawest form, is a thrilling adventure of a tortured man on his quest to physical and spiritual freedom. The plot is engaging. Tahn, as a character, draws you in. I care because I see this novel's potential and it pains me that instead of achieving something great, it slumps into the dreariness of cliches, tropes, and watered-down Christianity.

I am an artist and a Christian. I admit, I am not the greatest writer, actor, or singer. I struggle too to create excellent art. But if we're going to leave any lasting impact on this world through our creative endeavors we must struggle, not settle for half-convincing characters, conversions, and conversations.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I am going to relive other aspects of my childhood that make me a little less queasy.

The Middle

Have you ever read a blog post or a book, or listened to a public speaker, or sat with a new friend over a cup of coffee and experienced the impact of another human's suffering? The story you read or hear is powerful; it is painful, but the giver of the story has-through grace and grit-overcome that chapter of their life. You are inspired by the wisdom and the lessons learned and the now-evident working of God's hand in that person's life. 

I have read a lot of blog posts like the ones I've described. I am grateful for people, strangers often, who invited me to learn from their stories, their struggles, and their mistakes. Nearly every blog post I've read, whether it be about depression, eating disorders, grief, suicidal ideation, sexual assault, self harm, or anxiety is written through the eyes of a person who has made it to the other side. Even if they haven't fully overcome their demons, they are in a place where they feel peace. They feel a distance from the once-suffocating experiences that come with mental illness. 

As I have read these blogs, I feel the contradicting feelings of hope and discouragement. I find hope in another person's success, but it is always followed by the nagging, desperate voice that cries, "When will this be me? When do I get to write my blog post, claiming my victory over my depression?" 

What do you do when you're in the middle?

I believe that every person who bravely shares their stories seeks to do so for their own peace and for the betterment of others. They are looking to shatter the stigmas surrounding the taboo, messy subjects that are embedded in human suffering. For that I am grateful. But sometimes, reading a story that has a resolution while my story is in chaos is not what I need. Sometimes, reading the stories of "fixed" or "healed" people pushes me into silence as it makes me feel that, somehow, I can't publicly share until I've gotten over all my issues. 

Sometimes what I need is someone who is in the middle like me. I need someone to write a blog post that says, yes, they struggled to get out of bed this morning too. Yes, making their bed was an act of obedience to God when all they wanted to do was crawl right back in and forget about their day. Yes, they feel numb and pained and anxious and lonely. 

Even as our society is becoming more understanding of mental health issues, it still feels incredibly taboo, especially in the church. I struggled with my depression for years before admitting it to my pastor and my women's group. I find that it is awkward whenever I bring depression up in a large group of Christians and yet when I speak to many Christians one on one, I find that my fellow believer is also suffering or has suffered with depression in the past. 

I want awkward prayer groups. I want people to be real and honest with what's going on in their lives. It is incredible to see how when one person breaks down the barriers of social politeness and begs for prayer for the deepest hurts of their heart how others will nod and whisper, "I feel that too".

If you find yourself in the middle of a struggle, whatever struggle, do not feel that you cannot speak of it. You were made for community. You were made to be supported. You don't need to wait until you have neatly tied up your lose destruction. Jesus said, "It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick". Jesus came to save us in our sinful, broken state. If our Lord accepts us and loves us as we are, how can we do less for one another?